She shivered, and not only because a cold, misty rain was saturating her threadbare cloak. She had never been so frightened in her life, even when her family had fled France to escape the Reign of Terror. Only six years old, she had seen that as a grand adventure, serene in her trust that no harm could befall her when she was with her parents.
But now both parents were dead and she was utterly alone, without a situation, money, or references to help her find another job. If she had been in Bristol, she could have found shelter with friends, but not in London, where Nicole knew no one but the servants in the Guthrie household.
To make matters worse, it was Saturday afternoon. Within a couple of hours all the modistes’ shops would be closed until Monday morning.
She set her chin and began marching down the street. She could do nothing to prove her innocence or recover her savings from Lady Guthrie, so there was no point in wasting time on regrets or curses at life’s unfairness. All of her energy must go toward survival.
She had just reached the street when the kitchen door opened and a low voice called her name. She glanced back and saw Merkle standing in the door and beckoning. Nicole obeyed the summons, but as she approached the maid, she said bitterly, “Has Lady Guthrie decided I cannot take my own clothing? I should think my things would be too poor for her taste.”
“She never changes her mind about anything,” Merkle said sadly. “I’m sorry, Nicole, I don’t believe you stole the ring, but there’s nothing to be done with the old besom when she’s in a mood like this. She knows her husband and his family will be furious with her for losing the ring, and she had to take it out on someone. A pity it was you. And to discharge you so close to Christmas!”
The maid had a mass of scarlet fabric draped over her arm, and now she raised it for Nicole’s inspection. “Take this cloak. It was one of her ladyship’s mistakes in judgment so she gave it to me after one season. Too gaudy for my taste, so I’ve never worn it, but it’s warmer than that old thing you’re wearing. Here, put it on.”
Nicole’s first reaction was to refuse to take anything that had been Lady Guthrie’s, but practicality overcame her principles. Accepting the scarlet cloak, she draped it over her own thin garments. Immediately she felt warmer, though considering the color and the vulgar feather trimming, she understood why neither Lady Guthrie nor Merkle wanted it.
Next Merkle offered a greasy packet wrapped in newspaper. “Here’s a meat pie. It’s all I could take without Cook noticing. And here’s five shillings. For that, you should be able to rent a room for a few nights if you know where to look.”
“Where might I find such a place?” Nicole asked. “In the month I’ve been in London, I have learned nothing of the city.”
The maid thought for a moment. “Around Covent Garden might be best. There are plenty of lodgings, and when the market is open you should be able to get damaged produce at a good price. But be careful, child. London streets aren’t safe at night. Sometimes not even in the day, leastwise not for a girl as pretty as you.” She sighed. “I wish I could have convinced her ladyship not to blame you for the ring’s disappearance. Lord only knows what happened to the blasted thing.”
Trying to sound confident, Nicole said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m on my way now to seek employment. The money and food you have provided will keep me until I can start work.” On impulse, she rose on her toes and kissed the other servant on the cheek. “Thank you, Miss Merkle. You are a good woman.”
Then Nicole turned and set off without looking back.
* * *
For a gentleman about town, there was no more desirable residence than the Rochester. The rooms were elegant and the discreet staff always ready to provide any service required. That was convenient for Sir Philip Selbourne, since his valet had come down with a streaming cold and stayed at home in Northamptonshire.
At the moment, however, Philip was not reflecting on his good fortune. In fact, as he climbed the front steps of the Rochester, head bent and mind absorbed in calculations, he was so abstracted that he quite literally ran into his best friends.
The baronet was murmuring an absent apology when a familiar voice said, “Philip! You’ve just arrived in town?”
Brought back to the present, Philip raised his head to discover the Honorable James Kirby and Francis, Lord Masterson, another close friend. After greeting both men and shaking their hands, Philip said, “I’ve been here for two days. This is only a quick trip to take care of some business.”
“And you didn’t let either of us know?” Kirby said reproachfully. At twenty-five he was the same age as Philip, but his round face and flaming red hair made him seem younger. “With all three of us living in the same building, you can’t say that it was too much effort to call! It’s been months since we’ve seen you in town. Surely not since March.” Abruptly he stopped speaking as he remembered why his friend had left London then.
Philip grimaced. “I’ve been deucedly busy since my father died. Having grown up at Winstead Hall, I thought I knew something about farming, but it turns out that I knew a good deal less than I believed. His death has caused a number of unexpected complications.”
Lord Masterson’s cool voice said, “Problems? That surprises me. I would have thought Sir Charles the last man on earth to mismanage his affairs.”
“He didn’t,” Philip said, quick to defend his father. “One of the difficulties is the unexpected number of investments he left, none of which I knew anything about.” He gave a wry smile. “In the last six months, I’ve worked harder at educating myself than all the years at Winchester and Cambridge put together.”
“Come along and tell us all about it while we dine,” Kirby urged. “It’s too cold to converse here on the steps.”
“Sorry, I can’t accept,” Philip said regretfully. “In a few minutes my solicitor is coming, and we’re going to spend the afternoon finishing the business that brought me to London. I want to return to Winstead tomorrow morning.”
“Stay an extra day,” Masterson suggested. “So many people have left to spend the holiday in the country that town is rather thin of company.” He gave a faint, charming smile. “Under the circumstances, even you offer welcome diversion.”
Philip returned the smile, but shook his head. “I really must get back. This Christmas will be hard for my mother.”
“Then join us for dinner in my rooms,” Kirby said, undeterred. “With the three of us together, it will be like old times at Winchester.”
Philip hesitated, tempted, then shook his head again. “I really can’t. The solicitor will leave mountains of documents, and it will take me all evening to go over them.”
“Surely your fusty documents can wait another day,” Kirby said, his wide blue eyes showing hurt.
Before Philip could answer, Masterson raised his dark, elegant brows. “You must remember to take time for your friends, Philip, or someday when you need them, you may find that you have none.”
